


The Master's Right Hand

by Gullwhacker



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Cerberus is a good boy, Gen, It Would Be A Day In The Life But This Is The Underworld, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Disagreement, Slice of Life, canine POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gullwhacker/pseuds/Gullwhacker
Summary: In the realm of the dead, time's inexorable grip has loosened.  Helios's passage goes without remark, the rise and fall of tides is above notice, and the turning of seasons has utterly stilled.  Days, hours, years - none of them have any meaning in the Underworld.Let this, then, be aninstanceof the duties of that realm's ever-faithful watchhound.
Relationships: Cerberus & Hades (Hades Video Game), Cerberus & Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: fandomtrees





	The Master's Right Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silverfoxflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/gifts).



> Written for the 2020 fandomtrees prompt, this kind of just...sparked. Because Cerberus is a Good Boy.

There are no clocks in the House of Hades. The dead know neither day nor night, and time's eternal flow is at best a curiosity. One finds no bells to sound the hours, no steady ticking to mark the seconds, no calendar pages to crumple with the passage of months.

Nonetheless, there are regularities to existence in the Underworld. Like a bugle in full reveille, recurrent sound rouses the dread guardian Cerberus from well-earned slumber. The words are all but irrelevant, but one snarling head perks its ears to hear what injustice has brought about this awakening.

"-knew _full well_ she thought I had died, and yet you never-"

"That matter, _boy _, is not to be discussed here. If you would ask such a question, then by all means, continue to defy every iota of my authority. Perhaps I may even grant you an answer before sending you back here."__

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The same argument, once again. Growling, the dexter head slumps anew; the argument has stopped but may never end. The sinister head barks, suddenly alert, and the child pauses mid-stride. Happily, he turns, scratching in just the right part of the chin-

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Thump, thump, thump goes the tail, and if other slumberers are roused, all the better.

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Too soon, or not soon enough, he leaves. Steady is the Master's hand as it writes on parchment, levying judgments on shades without pause. Regular are the rounds that the snake-headed worker traces. Even are the renewed snores of the one watching the pool.

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Were Cerberus in a mood, most regular of all would be the beats of his tail. The child, however, has departed, befouling their spirit. Furthermore, the little worker has just delivered a meal, and on the balance it is found...wanting.

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Growling, a sniff confirms that this food, whatever its origin, is bland - little seasoning, little to savour.

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Snarling at the distasteful offering, claws are flexed. To make such a...mushy offering to the Underworld's greatest guardian is a great offence.

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Barking, they consider that it is food - how can they pass that up? It might even be delicious, just a little closer for one bite...

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Another snarl of dismissal. By ancient agreement between their three heads, a stomach shared shall only consume that which all three can agree to. Elsewise, the body they share might suffer.

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Another bark. It could be worth trying - it might even be surface meat this time!

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There is a gasp, and all three heads turn their gaze to the quivering gorgon. Perhaps she has sensed their displeasure - perhaps she fears being their next meal. With a snarl, one head turns away, followed by two more; as fun as it might be to bark and chase the ball around, there are more pressing matters.

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Food.

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Ponderously, the hellhound rises. The Master pauses briefly in his writing, but carries on moments later. The guardian's business is his own, and the route taken one not meant for smaller creatures. With a bound, a wall is cleared; with a growl, passageways shift to grant the hound a path along the cages of souls.

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Tartarus is as cold and miserable as ever, and fear trembles amid the caged souls beneath Cerberus's feet. The pace they set is measured but inexorable; none of the sights of this realm are unfamiliar, and few can even surprise.

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Growling, bared teeth scare off a wretched witch - the shade having drawn too close, and rapidly regretting that decision.

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Snarling, eyes fixed forward, they prepare to clear a few chambers in one bound.

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With a bark, they - wait, something moved, it's time to bark much louder!

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Growling, the dexter head turns to the sinister. None of Cerberus's heads are capable of speech, but the glower alone says 'you only _just_ noticed it?'

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There's a rumble of surprise, ending in a great rocky crash. All three heads turn to the sight - a special chamber, with a seemingly-endless hill to climb. At the bottom, the ~~ball~~ boulder seems to smile up, even as the hulking king bound to push it sinks his head in shame.

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Cerberus draws closer, nostrils flaring as all three sets sniff. Yes, the king is there - and the lead Fury, whip in hand, looking up at them before turning away.

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"Tsch. If Cerberus is here, then Zagreus must be on his way. Lucky for you, I need to go prepare. Just remember - I know full well what you did, so you keep away from him, understand?"

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Ignoring the Fury's fury, Cerberus finally springs into a much-delayed leap. With a growl, chambers shift around, making for an easier path tread from above. Where that leaves those below, the hound cares not; hunger is a far greater concern.

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Asphodel is much warmer, of course. Travel for a giant hound is much less steady here; no walls mark convenient paths, and the ships that sail between islands are far too small for the great guardian. Most of the denizens here are wise enough to avoid Cerberus entirely, making for a lonely trek; innocent shades keep to themselves, and the bony guardians are generally aware of the temptation they present.

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Delicious smells waft up from one island, and with a growl, their attention is drawn to the familiarity of pomegranates. It's nostalgic, and even if it isn't meat, perhaps there's enough allure?

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Snarling, paws carefully turn away from that source. Not this time, judging by the sounds behind them. The young heir is moving swiftly, and tarrying to enjoy a meal and a song might leave their post vacant too long.

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Barking, tail wagging, one head turns to a much more convenient source for a snack. Perhaps that bone hydra could spare...oh, one of its necks? To share?

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The final guardian of Asphodel hisses at their approach. It seems to disagree with this request, and is possessed of myriad powers to deter all who would pass - and in this case, to enforce its will. Storms of arrows, waves of force, might enough to bring down cavern roofs to crush smaller beings - all of these are turned loose in a terrific fury.

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The final guardian of the Styx wants a snack.

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The Lernaean Bone Hydra, in the end, can spare a neck.

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Growls and barks occasionally sound betwixt the crunches of bones, paws treading undeterred towards the gates of Elysium. With a snarl, the gates are commanded to open, revealing endless battlefields populated by undying warriors. One legion or another looks toward them in challenge, but back off at another snarl.

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Another snarl drives back the souls of valiant warriors, confident in more than appearance. In life, many of these souls considered themselves heroes; quite a number attempted, after death, to depart the underworld and valiantly return themselves to life.

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Cerberus has a role to fulfill in the running of the underworld, and few are the reasons to leave that final post. No soul of Elysium has escaped.

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Footfalls treat lightly upon these fields. There is a hush, and only snarling dignity keeps them from bounding freely to play and frolic. Their reputation is preserved once more; of the warrior souls encountered here, only the Minotaur remains uncowed enough to merely salute with his axe.

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As for the Champion-king, a quick bark to interrupt his speech is enough to satisfy Cerberus's pride.

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Still, the hunger remains. Enjoyable as Lernaean bones might be to gnaw upon, they are roasted thoroughly enough that no substance remains. Dry fragments crumble to the floor as Cerberus enters the Temple of Styx, treading the last short distance to their guardpost.

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Satyrs scramble down tunnels; the hound is hardly _quiet_ , after all, and after the first dozen they seem to have learned how undiscerning the guardian's appetites can be.

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With a growl, the latest dish in the House is remembered. Undiscerning towards those meals that yet _move _, their appetites perhaps are, but there are yet standards.__

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Snarling, the middle head rises high; duty demands that enemies be devoured, but their food must be of a quality befitting the final guardian.

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With a bark, one head sinks to the floor. That dish _might_ have been good, but now they'll never know. Not even the rats get close any more.

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And so they wait. Dutiful as ever, loyal as eternity, they stand vigil. None dare approach, and the sounds beyond this pathway are of no concern. The ferryman's boat comes and goes as it will, and violence resounds from one or another of the passages here, but-

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-something smells good.

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Growling, nostrils sniff. Real meat - _fresh_ meat, pilfered from the surface.

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Snarling, nostrils sniff. A foul stench over the food, signifying that it belonged to the Satyrs - and being wrested from their grasp makes it all the better a meal.

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Barking, nostrils sniff. More important than the food itself - if such a thing can be said - is the familiar scent of the one who carries it-

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"They hid it pretty well this time, old boy. Still, I know you can't get enough of this stuff - so here you go."

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Cerberus's tail wags, thumping heavily against the temple floor for three distinct reasons. First, at long last they have something _worth_ eating. Second, by ancient command, the prize brought here allows a break in their vigil. Third, he's here, the wonderful child is here, and battered though he might be he seems just as happy to see them!

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"All good? Then I'll see you around - sooner or later, I'll be back."

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The hound steps aside, and with only a single pat on a single head, the child moves on. A bark, as a farewell for now, and they tread onward. Helpfully, the path down through the Underworld can ever be tread more swiftly than the one up and out. Along the river, over a ledge, and down a cliff -

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\- and down, and down -

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\- until they land in the courtyard, crushing a skeleton with the briefest of clatters. Whatever protest he might have made is rightfully ignored, as more sedate steps take them back to their resting place by the Master's now-vacant desk.

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There is a sack to be devoured, of course, and all three heads tear into it with gusto - but the meal only lasts so long, and soon the three heads rest once more on the floor to watch the pool.

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Snarling, Cerberus wonders. How long before the Master is victorious, and the young heir emerges once more to start anew?

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With a bark, Cerberus disagrees. Perhaps this will be one of those times it is the Master who emerges from the pool, and the child following considerably later.

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With a growl, Cerberus closes one set of eyes. Will the Queen ever return to them?

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All that remains is to wait, resting vigilant.

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End file.
